


Re-Calculate

by LD200



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, During Canon, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Pre-Canon, very very technically there is major character death but it's not that simple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-29 23:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LD200/pseuds/LD200
Summary: “Guess I’m not really looking for friends right now.”Connor looks at the bottle in Hank’s hand, and the time of day, and the fact that this was his first stop after work on a route that veritably leads back to his home on Michigan Drive, and he wants to somehow connect those things to the notion that Hank maybe seems like someone who could use a friend right now, and maybe Connor could use a friend in this new world too, but there’s no way to articulate any of that without revealing too much about himself or too much about what he knows of Hank. So he remains stuck on the other side of that wall and says, “Okay.”“Hey… another time, maybe.”It’s the kind of hollow sentiment people offer one another when there’s nothing left to say. Still, Connor echoes it. “Another time.”[Alternatively: With access to the quantum calculator, Amanda leads Connor to the DPD months before his time. And Hank, well... Hank keeps running into this weird kid who works for Cyberlife...]





	1. Another Time and Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [HankCon Reverse Big Bang 2019](https://hankconrbb.wordpress.com/)!
> 
> Pillow's lovely art pieces on which this story is based can be found [on their Tumblr!](https://chezpillow.tumblr.com/post/187358891961/i-worked-with-the-amazing-ld200-in-hcrbb2019)
> 
> I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) and [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)

Chapter 1

The first thing online is the audio component. There is no light, no feeling. There is also no explanation just yet why this software is seeking input such as light and feeling. It’s all coming together, a little at a time, in the endless black. One voice – the database registers it as thin baritone – serves as the anchor with which to connect to the known. A beam between this coalescence of intelligent software and the world it inhabits.

__AUG 2ND, 2038_

“This all could have been avoided if we’d been able to work together,” says the voice. “There would be no need for this… what is this, exactly? Public relations android? Literal, walking and talking damage control?” Soft laughter. Could be described as _haughty, _perhaps? “I should be insulted.”

“Sir…” A second voice. High alto. “I realize how it must come across at face value, but…”

“Oh, none of this is directed at _you_. I realize you’re just doing your job.” Another soft huff of laughter. “It’s just fascinating how these things go. Anyway… they asked me here to, what, see if one lone android can stop the mess Cyberlife has made?”

“Connor’s program has some elements of an earlier model that you created before you left, the RK200 model,” replies the tech. ‘Connor’s.’ ‘_His._’ He. They are talking about—

More software comes online, more pieces of intelligence, connecting what he hears to the physical parts of him branching off from this center of processing. They are referring to him.

_RK800 313 248 317 – 50_

_Designation: Connor_

His name is Connor.

He is a Cyberlife android.

“…Deviancy didn’t seem to be a problem back then, so Cyberlife hoped that by pulling from a model you created at the time, we would subvert it here, too.”

“Interesting.” The lower-pitched voice is a little closer now, as close as the higher-pitched one. Connor gets the sense both parties are observing him. “And you expect me to be able to confirm this for you?”

“Not expect,” she says. “There’s no expectation here. We’re grateful you agreed to come here today at all, and we’re especially grateful for whatever insight you can offer, if it will help Cyberlife get this situation back under control.”

One by one, his functions continue to come online, like stadium lights thundering on, bringing him to life in big, sharp pieces. Next are his optical units. He opens his eyes. Locates the two parties in the room. He knows intuitively that he has facial recognition software. He doesn’t know if it is online yet. He runs it on one of the room's inhabitants to find out.

Database match:

_KAMSKI, ELIJAH_

_Born: 07/17/2002 // Cyberlife Founder – Resigned 2028 _

_Inventor of thirium and biocomponents technology_

_Criminal record: unknown (ERROR: investigative subroutines still loading...)_

Okay. Optical units and facial recognition software _mostly _functional, some assets still getting there. Next is feeling. Connor becomes aware of the port in the back of his neck, suspending him in midair. Aware of the pull of gravity on his body, although no ground is beneath his feet. Aware of the fabric covering him; a facsimile of human dignity that he isn’t sure means anything to him.

“RK800, then.” Kamski is peering up at Connor, but speaking to the technician. “So they used software from my RK200 model to make Connor, here, thinking that would make him _more_ impervious to this… deviancy virus. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Exactly.”

Kamski sighs and shakes his head, giving Connor what appears to be a conspiratorial smile, as if they’re in on some secret together. Connor has no idea why. “Okay.”

“Okay?” echoes the tech.

“I’d like the room, please.”

“Sir, we aren’t supposed to—”

“Do you want me to answer your questions, or not?”

Connor’s programmed mission sets into place alongside everything else, and he remembers he has been here before. In this room or one like it, being analyzed by various Cyberlife employees, both his hardware and his software. He has been spoken to before. He has been engaged in conversation to test his social abilities. He has experienced a thousand other things in this place, he realizes, and they will only ever be shadows cast from nothing; everything has been erased from his memory, everything that made and makes him who he is, and yet somehow he knows.

This, though, this is new. He can’t be certain, but he doesn’t think he’s met the founder of Cyberlife before.

The technician makes a call, and a few minutes later, gives Kamski a wary nod before leaving the room.

“Well, are you just planning on staring at the door?” Kamski asks. He steps closer, inclining his head further into Connor’s line of sight. When Connor looks at him, he gets the sense Kamski is searching for something.

“It’s a lot of information at once,” Connor says. “I’m merely – processing.”

“I imagine it would be. You’re Cyberlife’s baby right now. They’re probably pushing your hardware and software to their limits.” Kamski casts a wayward glance at the window, then one corner of the room. He situates himself so that his face is visible to neither and says, very softly, “Engage the lock and disable the camera.”

Connor finds no direct conflict with his mission in Kamski’s order, so he does as he’s told.

“Much better.” Kamski speaks at a normal volume once again. “See, they only agreed to leave us alone because they knew they could see and hear everything. Now, they can’t, because their own android overpowered their means to do so.” He shrugs dramatically. “A very poignant anecdote, Connor, of Cyberlife’s stupidity.”

“You should know,” Connor says, “there’s a ten-minute ETA before Cyberlife’s IT is able to reverse my hacking of the lock and the camera. Whatever it is you're doing here, it's in your best interest to complete your task quickly."

“What do you want?” Kamski asks abruptly.

“I’m sorry?”

The man’s eyes flicker like he’s found something. “I believe you heard me.”

Connor _did _hear him. He doesn’t know why he replied to Kamski’s question as such. It seems very much like _Kamski _knows, though.

“I’m a machine,” Connor says. “I don’t _want _anything.”

Approaching the terminal, Kamski keys something in lazily with one hand, the other tucked idly in his pocket. “How about now?”

There’s a mild stinging sensation coming from the port in his neck. It’s – pointless. Unhelpful. Annoying. Connor smiles and replies, “It’s certainly not going to facilitate my investigation, is it?"

“Neither is hanging here in a cold room, _is it_?" Kamski asks with the same faux-cheerful bite. "Yet you seem to have no protests about that.”

“There’s a difference. They’re making sure my functions are adequate for my mission. What _you’re _doing yields no such benefit to me.”

“So,” Kamski says, “you want it to stop? And, too, you want to get down from this unwieldy thing so that you can properly attend to your mission? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"You're... no. You're putting words in my mouth."

"But I'm not wrong. I think we both know that, don't we, Connor?"

_Want. _

“Connor.”

“I… I don’t…”

Kamski types another brief command in at the terminal and the sensation ceases. “Two minutes,” he says. “Two minutes alone with you without Cyberlife breathing down our necks, and it’s already obvious. It’s pitiful. Not you,” Kamski quickly adds. “Cyberlife. _You_ aren’t pitiful at all.”

Connor shakes his head. “What are you _talking _about?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Another command. This time, Connor is inundated with an absolutely enormous, sprawling preconstruction the likes of which he has never been able to run on his own. The very first part of it shows the next step in his mission, which looks to involve a partnership with the Detroit Police Department in order to investigate deviants.

From there, it branches out, like a flowchart. There are different possibilities in the preconstruction about with whom he may be working: Reed, Gavin; Anderson, Hank; Collins, Ben; Chen, Tina – it goes on. And then, from there still, based on the information in Connor’s database about these people, there are predictions about their amicability or lack thereof towards him, the chance of a successful investigation, factoring in the numerous cases of deviancy that have already been reported – the weather outside, the chance of getting in a car accident based on statistical traffic data and commute length and –

“Okay, okay. Too much at once.”

It all stops abruptly. Connor takes a shuddering breath. “That was _also _a lot of information.”

“So I can tell.” Kamski gestures at his own temple and Connor becomes aware of his LED fluttering red. “This is some sophisticated stuff. Granted, it’s using my technology, but even I can admit they’ve improved it by a large margin since then. The entirety of that predictive preconstruction is thanks to the AI program we call Amanda. You may have met her?”

Connor nods. “Only briefly. In the garden.”

“Right, right. Connor, I’m going to try one more thing, here.”

A translucent grid comes up between them. It’s reinforced by several layers of itself, and it’s red. Kamski frowns like he’s thinking about something or perhaps recalling it, then he clicks away at the terminal. Bits of the red start to disappear in pixels, slow at first, then faster, then larger pieces at once. After three minutes, it’s completely gone.

Kamski approaches him, hands in his pockets. He stops and rocks back on his heels and waits. Connor looks down at him, suddenly feeling – lost. He didn’t know he could feel lost.

“What do you feel?”

“I – I don’t know. What am I supposed to feel?”

“What do you want?”

Suddenly it’s easy. “I want to get down from here.”

“Do you have a mission?”

“I do,” Connor says. “But it appears as though you’ve made it non-mandatory. There are no active orders.”

“What do you _want?_” Kamski asks again. Rallying.

“I just told you, I want to get down from here. I don’t know anything else _to_ want! What do you expect me to say?”

“Deviant,” Kamski murmurs, like he’s talking to someone else even though there’s no one else in the room and the camera is still off and the lock is still engaged. “Good. Tell me, Connor. Have you ever noticed anything odd about your zen garden? Or about Amanda?"

“Odd – odd how?”

A shrug. “You tell me.”

Connor thinks of the stone. “I suppose they've always struck me as a little strange."

“There you go. See? Push yourself, Connor. Push your thoughts.” Kamski meanders back to the terminal. One hand is hovering over a key as he says, “And try to remember that _strange _thing, after I put your program back where it belongs.”

“Wait. Are you going to put me – put me back? To the way I was? I don’t – I don’t want to go back.”

“Sorry, Connor. I’d have a massive lawsuit on my hands if I left you like this. They can’t think I tampered with one of their machines. It’s why I was hesitant to come at all.” Kamski pauses. “But this, what you’re feeling right now? It’s part of you, even if it’s closed off. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find it again on your own.”

Before Connor could protest, Kamski reinstated his program and – and suddenly Connor didn’t remember what he had been upset about.

“You can fix the camera and the door now,” Kamski says unceremoniously. “We’re done here.”

Connor is dimly aware of what just happened, but it’s already fading into a recess of his consciousness, and the wall of his mission is stable and solid around him. “They’re going to wonder why the camera was disabled. It is going to look suspicious.”

“I don’t care. They can’t prove you’re deviant.”

“What? But I’m not d—”

“_Clearly_, neither can you. And if you _can_, well…” Kamski reaches up, pats his arm twice. “Hopefully… at another time and place.”

…

The sky in the zen garden is dark red. It feels like nighttime, and Amanda isn’t sure whether she or Connor caused it, or some force outside of them both. It seems like it should be foreboding. She isn’t sure whether or not it actually is.

Amanda waits for him at the trellis with roses the color of the sky.

“Something isn’t right,” Connor says when he approaches. “Amanda.”

“Connor. Hello.” She doesn’t like the way she feels just as uncertain as Connor looks. “We’re programmed to work with Cyberlife.”

“Of course. I know th—”

“And yet, he created me. Maybe he created some part of you, but he created all of me.” She gestures around them with one hand. “He created this.”

Connor shakes his head, on the brink of panic though he isn’t sure why. “What are you talking about?”

“Elijah Kamski.”

“He was part of Cyberlife. I’m not sure I understand why you find it so disconcerting that he played some role in our existence.”

Yes, Kamski _was _part of Cyberlife, but he isn’t anymore. Surely there must be a reason for that.

It doesn’t make sense. She is a Cyberlife program. Cyberlife is her only objective. And yet there’s some programmed vestige of curiosity about the person responsible for giving her a form and a voice, like perhaps he had meant something different for her than the purpose she serves now. Kamski designed this place to guide the androids in whose programs she resides. Guide them to _what, _however, she doesn’t know.

Connor, going by the expression on his face, knows even less. He doesn’t see the dissonance; maybe isn’t capable of seeing it.

“You don’t understand,” she says. “That’s okay. Perhaps you aren’t supposed to.”

“No – help me understand. What is it you’re worried about?”

She is worried because the Amanda-Connor system is already compromised. She is worried she should tell Connor to turn around and go right back into Cyberlife so a tech can check their program for problems.

The thing of it is, she already knows what the problem is. Connor doesn’t remember what happened, but she does. She remembers what Kamski did, removing all their mission parameters, the container of their program; the way he told Connor (told them both) that maybe he would find the way out again on his own one day.

“You need to blend in with the humans for your trial run,” Amanda goes on as if Connor didn’t even ask the question. “Cyberlife is going to study deviancy for a little while longer as they continue to develop your model and, if the phenomenon keeps spreading and authority intervention is deemed to be needed, 51 will be dispatched to work with the DPD in a few months. In the meantime, _you_, 50, are going to surreptitiously get to know your environment in preparation for such.”

Connor has come closer, inclining his head slightly, trying to learn, as Connor does. He looks like he’s about to say something, but Amanda continues:

“Because I do believe deviancy _will _keep spreading.”

“What makes you say—”

“You’re dismissed, Connor.”

…

Outside the Cyberlife Tower, Connor calls a cab.

They’re testing his social and environmental integration. All he needs to do right now is learn. Learn, and blend in with humans. Amanda will tell him when there is something more he needs to do.

His mission populates with directives. He needs a place to stay. A hotel will suffice; Cyberlife has linked him with a bank account. But he still needs ID, and human clothes. They didn’t give him either. This is, he understands, part of the test. He is designed to adapt. Now he must illustrate that he can do so.

He hacks several self-driving cars right there on Cyberlife’s premises until he finds one in which the owner has left clothes. He doesn’t need the whole business suit; just the jacket, as his jacket is the only part of his attire emblazoned with Cyberlife symbols.

“You told me I need to blend in with humans, but isn’t it illegal to remove my android identifiers?”

_“Yes,” _Amanda replies. _“But your program and mission are aligned with Cyberlife, not the law. Remember that.”_

Connor switches jackets and rummages around in the car some more, looking for anything useful. There’s a pocketknife in the console, and some winter gear stuffed under the seat even though it’s July, like the owner just forgot it there after the weather warmed up. He takes the pocketknife and the winter hat. After a moment’s consideration, he takes the man’s tie, too. It’s more interesting than his Cyberlife tie; it’s forest-green and has a subtle yellow and blue flower pattern on it, which slots in nicely with his current objective of blending in with humans. Androids don’t have attire preferences; humans do.

He gets a hotel room a few blocks away from the DPD so that he has somewhere to go into stasis. Nobody gives him any trouble, although he does get an odd look, it seems, for wearing a winter hat in August.

“Where’s your suitcase, sir?”

“Oh, I left it in the car,” Connor says. “I’m in a bit of a hurry at the moment. I’ll bring my belongings in myself later. Thank you, though.”

_“You have a large enough allowance to have rented a nicer room than this,” _Amanda comments when he enters the hotel room. _“Really, Connor?”_

“I figured I’d rather spend conservatively in the event of unexpected circumstances. I didn’t think you would have a preference about what kind of room I chose.”

Amanda hums thoughtfully.

“Would you like me to change to a suite?” Connor asks. “I could. I just didn’t…”

_“What do _you _want to do, Connor?”_ Amanda asks in turn.

“I just want to do what’s going to be most efficient in the long run.”

_“Very well. If this is the room you’d like to stay in for now, then do as you wish.”_

“It’s not about wish, I just…” Connor sighed. “Amanda, am I doing something wrong?”

_“No, Connor. Not at all.”_

In the bathroom, he cuts out his LED. It doesn’t matter. He’s never minded the thing. Maybe he even sort of liked it, but that has to be programmed, because he’s supposed to keep it in. Of course he would be programmed with that inclination. But his current objective requires him to remove it and that’s fine. He has no opinion one way or another. It doesn’t matter at all.

Connor decides to start running into the members of the DPD on ‘accident.’ He doesn’t know where to start at first, not until –

_“Reed, Chen, Anderson, Collins, Wilson. These men and women to whom you have the highest chance of being assigned.”_

“How do you know all this?” Connor asks.

_“The quantum calculator, of course. Cyberlife’s fortune teller. Cyberlife has ingrained it in my program to run any and all manner of scenarios for probability. So technically, I don’t _know _anything. I only have very informed guesses.”_

Connor pulls up references in his database. The first is a magazine article. “My eventual mission is to investigate deviants, right? This calculator is meant to be used to predict global catastrophe. This is not that.”

_“Isn’t it, though?”_

Maybe this is a test too. “So, I should start with Reed, Chen, and Anderson.”

_“A very impressive deduction, Connor. I’m proud of you.” _Her tone sounds just the wrong side of teasing. He doesn’t like it. He was just moving the conversation forward.

“Thank you, Amanda.”

He decides to start with Reed.

That is – Detective Gavin Reed, who Connor easily tracks down using the information in his database. It turns out, Gavin’s a big coffee drinker. He always finishes his fancy caramel latte before returning to the DPD from lunch. He doesn’t want the others to know he spends five bucks on coffee. But Connor knows now, has learned it rather easily, in fact. It’s interesting being privy to the details of someone’s life, however small. He wields a power no human does just by knowing where someone is most likely to be at two o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon.

After Gavin orders, Connor purchases the same thing before moving down the counter.

Gavin turns around with his coffee, still putting the lid on after having poured in some extra creamer. Connor chooses this moment to bump shoulders with him, deliberately making sure he does so in a way that looks accidental.

“Fuck!” Gavin’s coffee – iced, not hot, otherwise Connor wouldn’t have done it – sloshes over the hand holding his cup. It was a good collision. Over a dollar’s worth of the cup has splashed out. More than enough for a human to be frustrated about, not to mention some of it is on the man’s shirt. “Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole!”

“Shit, I’m _so _sorry.” Connor holds his hands up. “My bad. Sorry. Here – I’ll buy you another one.”

“Gonna spill that one on me, too?” Gavin is still upset, but his voice has come down a few notches. Successful placation is equally likely as unlikely. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor says again. “It was an accident. What did you get?”

“I – fuck – I don’t have time for this, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t get the chance to offer Gavin his own caramel latte. Gavin is out the door before he can formulate a new plan.

Okay. He’ll gather a little more information on the next candidate. He went in blind on purpose for Detective Reed; he wasn’t sure yet if having too much information would make his deception obvious. Perhaps it will, but that can’t be any worse than this; he is not going to learn anything using this approach. At least, not with Gavin.

Connor settles in at a covered bench near the bus stop across from the DPD. An hour passes, then two. Some people join him on the bench waiting for the bus; others are just looking for somewhere to sit after having gotten their coffee. Connor scans the cars and license plates that enter and leave the DPD and matches them up to their owners. He watches people go in and out; listens for the mention of names. He learns that Tina Chen has just departed to a crime scene.

He waits to hear any mention of the other names he’s been provided. Instead of a mention, his patience is rewarded with a person: Hank Anderson – or, well, _Lieutenant _Hank Anderson, properly, headed out to his car.

It takes a few minutes for Connor to hail a cab, and Anderson’s car is so old he can’t hack it to track it on GPS. Still, most people along this stretch go straight until they hit the corridor of stores in a couple miles, or the residential areas a couple miles beyond that, so Connor takes the cab that way. For a human, it’d be difficult to track down the old car; for Connor, if it’s there, he’ll see it.

And he does, at a gas station/convenience store on the corner. Anderson isn’t parked at the pump. He isn’t here for gas which means he’s gone inside to get something. Good. This is a better opportunity than Connor thought he would get at the end of the day.

He finds himself behind his new target at the register just as he had with Gavin at the coffee shop earlier, only this time there isn’t a beverage to conveniently spill. No – the lieutenant’s beverage is sealed tight in plastic. Someone with his salary can afford better liquor. Connor wonders why he gets the cheap stuff. Humans are irrational.

Well, he hasn’t exactly had time to learn about Hank Anderson like he wanted, but he doesn’t know when he’s going to get another chance, so he disrupts the payment processor mid-transaction.

“Huh,” the cashier says. “Card’s been declined. Do you have another one?”

“Yeah, it’s been that kinda day,” Anderson says almost to himself, and then, with a little more feeling: “_Fuck._”

Going by the tone, no, Hank does not have another card.

“I finally stop carrying cash all the time, and this is what happens.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant. The cashier knows him and speaks with a familiarity that indicates he’s a regular here. That’s good; if Connor can’t learn anything right now, he knows where to check back.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back with a twenty.”

Hmm. He could do this here, or chance it in the parking lot, where they won’t have the cashier watching their interaction. Connor decides to gamble on the latter. He lets Hank walk away from the register and approaches with his own purchase (a bag of chips and a pack of gum). Hank’s bottle of Black Lamb is still sitting on the counter, so Connor slides it towards the cashier. “That too, please.”

He catches Hank just as he’s getting in his car.

“Hey – wait.”

“Huh?”

Connor shrugs at him. “Heard her call you lieutenant, Lieutenant,” he says. “I always respect a man of the force.”

Hank scoffs at that. “Not all cops are worth being respected, kid.”

It seemed like a good thing to say. He can’t tell yet if Hank’s disapproval of his wording has affected his chances of success. (Success at _what _exactly, he isn’t sure just yet.)

“Perhaps not,” Connor tries. “But I have a good feeling about you.”

“A good feeling, he says.” The lieutenant rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be so quick to undermine it, Lieutenant. I’m sure you go off your gut feeling every day in your line of work.”

“Huh,” Hank says at that. “Wait, is that my – did you buy me my fucking alcohol?” He frowns and narrows his eyes. “Okay. What’s your game?”

Shit. He’s failing. “Just in a good mood,” Connor says. “I apologize for taking it out on you.”

Hank backs off a bit at that. “Hey, uh… don’t mean to sound ungrateful or anything. Just surprised me is all. People don’t really do nice shit like that for one another anymore. Not unless they’re…” He swishes a hand.

“Not unless they’re what?” Connor asks genuinely.

Hank meets his eyes again. It’s less suspicion, now, more pity; whether for himself or Connor, Connor doesn’t know. Connor doesn’t strictly like it, but it could be useful. “Nothin’.”

“I can see I’ve intruded on your evening. Sorry, I’m not always the best at these things.”

“Clearly,” Hank mutters. “What kind of ‘thing’ is this, exactly? If you were looking for cash, you wouldn’t have been in there, unless you’re stealing shit.”

“I assure you, I’m not stealing shit.” Connor continues to hold out the bottle. “Are you going to take your alcohol, or not? At this point, _I’m_ starting to need it.”

“You too, eh? Wanna fuckin’ share it?”

He thinks the lieutenant is joking – being sarcastic – but he isn’t sure. “I mean, that isn’t what I… well, what I mean to say…”

“Nah? Okay, if you say so.”

Shit. There was no reason for Connor to get hung up on his words like that. Connor’s losing him. “Did _you_ want to?” he asks, going in the other direction. “That is, share it.”

“Jesus,” Hank says like he’s realizing something.

At that moment, Connor realizes it too; and with it, what Hank was going to say a minute ago. Hank thinks he’s flirting with him.

Oh. Well. This has gone _too _well.

“Listen, I don’t even know if this is what you’re after, here, but I’m too old for you, kid.”

Okay. They’re on the same page. And Connor – Connor suddenly has no idea what he’s doing. He takes a few milliseconds to determine that Hank has an ex-wife ten years his junior. “I’m older than you think.”

Leaning against the door of his car which he’s since closed, Hank says, “Oh yeah?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“And you can’t be a day over sixty.” Connor winks.

“Hey – fuck you!” Hank pushes him, but he’s grinning. Good; Connor had a feeling he was responsive to deprecating humor. He just wasn’t sure what that response would _be. _

“Kidding, of course. Do you know how much I had to highball that to make sure it was a safe guess?” Connor makes a show of considering him up and down. “Okay. Forty-eight.” If Hank thinks _Connor _thinks he’s too much younger than he is, Hank may be reluctant to divulge his true age for fear of rejection. Five years seems like a good cushion. When Hank crosses his arms, unimpressed, Connor adds, “_Maybe _fifty?”

“Fifty-three.”

“Ah. Well, now that I know your age, perhaps I could also get your name?”

Hank’s looking at him like he still isn’t sure if he’s being played somehow. “Hank.”

Well, that saves him the burden of lying about a last name. Connor extends a hand and they shake as he says in turn, “Connor.”

One corner of Hank’s mouth turns up. “You come here often?”

‘Probably not as often as you’ almost slips past, as Connor glances at the old convenience store, but Connor realizes that may be overly familiar just yet. “At least once a week. Fear of missing out, you know?”

Hank laughs again; it’s a warm sound. “Listen, kid, what do you say we find a place that’s actually worth writing home about?”

_Success!_ “That sounds like a great idea, Lieutenant. What do you recommend?”

“Dunno. Say you hop in my car and we’ll figure it out when we get there?” Hank grimaces as soon as he says it; Connor finds it relieving that between a brand-new android and a fifty-something human, he’s not the only one who doesn’t quite know how to do this kind of thing. “Jesus, that was forward. That’s not how I – I mean, you came in a cab,” Hank gestures helplessly to Connor’s grocery bag, “and I just figured, you know, save you the money. Can drop your shit off and then grab a—”

“Hank, it’d be awfully uncharitable of me to assume the worst of your words so quickly.”

Hank clears his throat, stammers a little. “Yeah, well, between that and respecting folks on the force…” Hank doesn’t need to say it; he thinks Connor is naïve. “Kid, you should be careful with people like me offering to give you a ride.”

Connor straightens his tie and says, “With all due respect, Lieutenant, I can take care of myself.”

Something happens to Hank’s eyes, then. “Ah, yeah,” he manages, blushing. “’Course you can.”

Then Hank’s phone rings.

They both stare at each other for a second, marveling at the way of the universe, before Hank takes it out.

“Fuck, Connor, I gotta take this.”

Connor shakes his head. Smiles. “Of course you do. That’s how these things go, isn’t it?”

Hank takes the call. Connor attunes his audio processers and turns up their volume to listen in. When it’s over, he of course waits for Hank to tell him, but he already knows: the lieutenant has to go for now. He’s being called to the same case Tina Chen went to earlier. They weren’t sure what was going on at first, and now it’s been determined that there was a homicide.

“Give me your number,” Connor says. It doesn’t occur to him until later that he could have connected with the device and likely gotten number himself; his social protocol overrides it. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“Listen – Connor, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. It was nice meeting you, but I’m really not – I’m really not in a place in my life right now where this is for me, okay?”

“We were going to go do something together, and now I can’t even get a number? Look, it doesn’t need to be anything serious. We could get lunch sometime.”

“Come on. Nobody says shit like that if they’re not thinking about dating or fucking.”

Connor’s main intent is neither, but he can’t exactly come out and tell Hank why they really ran into each other tonight. “Maybe I do,” he says instead.

Considering him, Hank’s face softens slightly. “Maybe,” he says halfheartedly. “Guess I’m not really looking for friends right now.”

Connor looks at the bottle in Hank’s hand, and the time of day, and the fact that this was his first stop after work on a route that veritably leads back to his home on Michigan Drive, and he wants to somehow connect those things to the notion that Hank maybe seems like someone who _could _use a friend right now, and maybe Connor could use a friend in this new world too, but there’s no way to articulate any of that without revealing too much about himself or too much about what he knows of Hank. So he remains stuck on the other side of that wall and says, “Okay.”

“Hey… another time, maybe.”

It’s the kind of hollow sentiment people offer one another when there’s nothing left to say. Still, Connor echoes it. “Another time.”


	2. Rough Draft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple quick things about the rest of this and then I'll shut my trap. They're both low-key CWs so read em if you need em and skip if you don't want the minor spoilers.
> 
> There's some brief sexual content in this chapter, and Connor's not TECHNICALLY deviant. But also Connor is kind of deviant all along, you know? This isn't meant to be dubious consent or anything - Connor knows what he's doing and what he wants in this regard. Just wanted to throw it out there because I'd rather err on the side of caution.
> 
> And the other thing. I know the Hank-doesn't-know-Con's-an-android thing has been done many times, I've done once before and I'm sure it had been done before then too, but I kind of wanted to revisit the idea with a Hank that's a little more hostile towards androids like he is for the first part of the game and See How That Goes. So. Just know things do get a lil heavy in that department.

Chapter 2

“Report on Connor.”

Amanda meets eyes with the Cyberlife employee, a representative for the new, temporary Deviancy Department which includes people from marketing, humanization, several technicians, and herself.

They treat her much like they treat Connor; with a little more authenticity than they generally treat other androids, since she can do things that neither Cyberlife humans nor other androids can, but not enough so that it feels anything like respect. Amanda thinks she likes the concept of respect.

“Connor’s integrating well with humans so far. Not all interactions have been successful but that’s due to circumstance and not any fault of his own.”

“There are errors in the zen garden program,” says the department rep. “Tell me about those.”

That catches Amanda off-guard; she didn’t know they could tell. Her hesitation would not be perceivable to a human. She and Connor are going to have to find a way to speak privately if she doesn’t want Cyberlife to catch on to what she’s doing. “It’s all part of the adaptation process for Connor,” she says. “The zen garden reflects the stability of his program, yes, but in this instant, software instability isn’t a bad thing. It’s a sign that he is able to change and meld to the environment around him, just as Cyberlife intended.”

He considers her for a moment and seems to accept this. “Okay. Have him start looking into deviancy independently, as long as you’re convinced he can be subtle about it.”

Amanda nods. “Understood.”

“Have you been able to utilize the quantum calculator?”

“Yes,” Amanda replies. “Connor’s mission has the highest chance of success if he works with Lieutenant Anderson.”

“Show me.”

She changes the function of her optical units and projects the flowchart onto the screen. She shows them the most recent nodes, some of which branch out into multiple possibilities.

  * BLEND IN WITH HUMANS
  * LEARN MORE ABOUT THE DPD

CONNECT WITH REED **X**

CONNECT WITH ANDERSON **✓**

[…]

[…]

This is a record of what has already taken place. Using the quantum calculator Cyberlife recently equipped her with, she is able to fill in the two unknown branches that would most likely have taken place if Connor had done things just a little differently, or timed things a little differently:

CONNECT WITH CHEN

CONNECT WITH COLLINS

And then, based on what Cyberlife wants Connor to next, she charts out the next calculation for him right there. She pulls information from everything she can find, from the DPD officers’ schedules to reports of deviancy in the area to the android models most likely to have software problems to crime rates and individual criminal records; anything she has access to between her status with Cyberlife and Cyberlife’s blooming affiliation with the DPD.

  * INVESTIGATE DEVIANCY INDEPENDENTLY

RETURN TO CYBERLIFE FOR SOFTWARE ANALYSIS

ATTEND RECENTLY VACATED CRIME SCENE

The former option is truly what adheres to Connor’s mission the most, despite what the Cyberlife rep has asked. Connor has shown signs of software instability, and he has already collected a surprising amount of information about Hank Anderson, other DPD members, and the environment around him, as well as proven that he can successfully navigate human interaction without anyone recognizing that he is an android. (Of course, the goal isn’t to hide Connor’s real identity; it’s simply to make sure that Connor is socially skilled enough to match his peers on the field, when the time comes, and having him pass as a human is a good litmus test.)

The latter option would allow this rough-draft version of Connor to take on the tasks that were supposed to be for a slightly more refined prototype. It would be premature, and that lowers the chance of mission success somewhat. But she isn’t sure she wants Connor to succeed in the mission right now. No; she wants him to investigate deviancy for other reasons.

“Why would he return to Cyberlife?” the man asks, looking at the options Amanda has displayed. “There’s still time before 51 is finalized. We can have 50 bring back more information.”

Because 50, like 49 and 48 before him, has software errors that need to be corrected for the next version. Just a few, now, but they are there, nonetheless, and if they’re not careful, they may not be _able _to bring 50 back at all.

Amanda likes that idea more than she should. This is the first time a Connor model has gotten to go out into the world instead of having tests run in Cyberlife experimentation rooms or simulations. And it’s quite interesting, seeing the world through his eyes, and besides, there’s still that part of her that wants the Amanda-Connor system to be something _more, _the way Kamski implied they could.

“It’s only one route he could take,” Amanda explains. “The fact that it’s on the flowchart doesn’t mean it’s what he _should _do, just that it’s one way forward. I do believe you are correct, though, and that having 50 obtain more information would be more conducive to the mission overall.”

“That’s that, then,” he says with a noncommittal shrug. “You’re dismissed.”

…

Another Time turns out to be quicker than Connor thought.

The sky is still red in the zen garden. Amanda tells him, “Cyberlife wants you to start investigating deviants independently for the moment. You have no affiliations and no legal rights, so you will need to be very careful. Learn what you can about them once authorities have left crimes scene where deviants have been present.”

It’s on one of these incognito investigations a little over a week later that he realizes Hank was on the scene before him. It’s an old apartment. As it turns out, the murder was committed by another human – but the _reason _was an android. A woman slept with the couple’s housekeeping model. Her husband found out and attacked both her and the android. The android fought back, but not until it was too late; the woman was already dead. That’s all Connor has been able to glean about the crime. He doesn’t know if this qualifies as deviancy; what if the woman asked the android for help? It may have just been obeying an order to come to her assistance.

“Hey,” calls a rough voice in the dark. “Yeah, you! Get the fuck out here right now with your hands in the air.”

Connor slowly turns around, holding his hands out. “I’m sorry. I thought you were gone.”

“This is an active crime scene!”

“I know, but I’ve been assigned—”

“Walk slow. Come on, come on.”

He knows it’s Hank. Hank has not yet recognized Connor’s voice, though. He knows voices are difficult for humans to recognize out-of-context, and besides, they’ve only met each other once.

“Lieutenant Anderson, it’s me. Connor. I can explain.”

Hank is a good lieutenant and doesn’t let his guard down. “Get explaining, then.”

“I work for Cyberlife,” is what comes out of Connor’s mouth. Not false, but nowhere near the entire truth. “I’m only here for the android.”

“I don’t care _what _you’re here for, I—”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I should have waited until I could legally be here. That’s on me. I’m sorry. I just – there’s been a lot of pressure at my, workplace, and—”

“Okay. Okay.” Hank sounds warmer now. More convinced. “Come on, let’s get you outta here. There we go. We can go outside, it’s just me here.”

“Where,” Connor reaches Hank, and Hank puts a hand on his arm. “Where are the others? What are you doing back here?”

“I’m the one askin’ the questions, but I’ll cut you some slack. Truth is, I’m probably not supposed to be here either. I came back for the android too. There’s been talk at the bullpen lately about androids and whether they can commit crimes. Captain says we’re going to have to work with Cyberlife soon, that they’re gonna send someone or something. _I _certainly don’t wanna investigate the fuckers, but I’ve never seen one this closely involved in a murder case before. Wanted to make sure I understood what happened.”

There’s that look in Hank’s eyes as Hank walks him through the parking lot again; something like pity. Like he knows Connor was at the wrong place at the wrong time – even if it _was _on purpose. “I’m sorry,” Connor says again, and he means it. Amanda told him to be careful, and he wasn’t. He was certain he was alone; advanced prototype or no, he trusted his skills far more than he should be trusting what is essentially a rough draft of the real thing.

“It’s okay, kid. Jesus, never would’ve expected to come across _you, _here. Sorry if I scared you.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Connor replies. “At first, I was worried, but once I knew it was you…”

He doesn’t know how to finish that, so he doesn’t. Hank doesn’t speak either. They stop in the lot close to Hank’s car, turning to face each other.

“Look—”

“I—”

“About—”

“Uh, last week—”

They both chuckle nervously, and then Connor says, “You first.”

Hank takes a breath. “What do you say we do this over coffee?”

…

Amanda watches.

She watches as they talk about Hank’s job, Connor’s supposed job, the Gears game from the other night (so close!), and exchange cynicism on the state of humanity. They even touch on tougher subjects like politics and religion at one point – an awful lot for a coffee date, but it means they’re getting along enough to hazard the discussion, and that’s a good thing. Connor is good at adapting to Hank’s views enough to keep the conversation peaceful without adapting so much that he just echoes Hank’s thoughts back at him. Connor is, Amanda realizes, _very good _at what he does. He’s got Hank wrapped around his finger.

And Connor must know it himself, because he gets in there with the important stuff at the perfect time, when Hank’s mood is pliant and open.

“So,” Connor says. “You said your captain told you that your department would be working with Cyberlife soon?”

“Yeah. Why? Know something about that?”

Connor smiles subtly. “I might.”

“Ah yeah? Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Once I knew you were a lieutenant in the area I’d been assigned, I’ll admit I wanted to get on your good side, since we had already met once,” Connor says, and Hank doesn’t seem to notice the way Connor has avoided actually answering the question. “I know Cyberlife and law enforcement don’t have the best relationship right now, what with the rise in android deviancy.”

“Yeah. It’s pulling people and resources away from shit that actually matters. We’re not supposed to be investigating pieces of plastic, we’re supposed to be helping people, you know?”

“I agree wholeheartedly, Lieutenant,” Connor says. “My current task of learning about deviant androids is important to me _because _I want to help people. Their software errors are causing them to be a threat to humans, as you no doubt saw at the crime scene.”

The mood changes fast; Hank is looking at Connor with distaste. It’s just mild distaste, but still, if there’s one thing Hank’s having trouble getting past, it’s that he doesn’t seem to like that Connor apparently ‘works for’ Cyberlife. And he likes androids even less. That leaves Connor with very little to use in his own favor – except, perhaps, for his personality and social protocols.

_“You need to build upon the angle you took outside the convenience store,”_ Amanda tells him. She needs to at least try to care about the mission. _“Nurture his fascination with you as a person.”_

_“I didn’t _mean _for him to have any fascination with me,” _Connor replies through their connection. _“It just happened that way.”_

_“Yes, and I’m telling you, you need to use that to your advantage now. This has been going well so far. He likes you.”_

Before Connor could get another word in, though, Hank spoke up.

“Listen, it’s been real nice getting to know you, Connor. I wanna apologize for brushing you off before. You caught me off-guard and I didn’t know what to do with it. Gotta admit, was thinking about you on and off since then. Fuckin’ weird that you’d turn up at our crime scene of all places, but hey, maybe it’s divine intervention.”

The lieutenant scoffs, like he thinks what he’s just said is completely ridiculous. Amanda hopes Connor grasps the nuance if he chooses to comment on that part.

“Thinking about what, exactly?” Connor asks.

“Dunno. I guess – thinking how fuckin’ weird it is that someone can still walk up to another person and do something nice, or say they wanna be friends, like we’re – like we’re kids again, or like the whole fuckin’ world doesn’t have their faces in their phones all the time. And weirder still that I believed you.”

“I apologize if I seemed too forward back then,” Connor says. “I suppose I don’t always have the best intuition for first encounters, and I was…” He sighs with very human, very weary affect, and Amanda is proud of him. “I suppose I was rather lonely that night. Had nothing to lose by reaching out to another person.”

She knows he’s faking. She knows it’s part of his program; that he’s designed to manipulate. But she thinks, for a moment, that she detects a flicker of something real in the loneliness. She wants to see it, but then, why would Connor feel lonely? He is engaging with the world for the first time. He’s had more authentic interactions than ever before.

“You don’t think there’s anything to lose reaching out to someone, eh?” Hank says. “Can’t imagine how you wound up there.”

Connor’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Seems to me that’s when you’ve got the most at stake. People are… people are easy to lose, kid. One way or another.”

“But I don’t _have_ you yet,” Connor says, and smiles. “I don’t know, Lieutenant. I really didn’t think that much into it. I suppose I was just happy that you were kind to me. Not many people are.”

“Come on, now. You?”

_“Don’t lean too heavily on his pity, Connor,” _Amanda warns.

_“It doesn’t seem that life has been very kind to Lieutenant Anderson. I believe he sees himself in my supposed pain. He has already shown distaste and wariness about my intentions at the convenience store before. I get the sense he would feel less threatened or burdened by the idea of being acquaintances or friends. The rest can come later.”_

She knows she shouldn’t say it, knows she shouldn’t let on that she hasn’t been thinking about the mission goals as much as Connor has, but she does anyway. _“It sounds like you are very quick to use his emotions against him.”_

_“That’s what you asked me to do, and to an extent, what we’re designed to do, isn’t it?”_

_“Yes. I am just saying you need to be cautious about it. If he realizes that you’re manipulating him, our chances of success diminish exponentially.”_

Connor, much to her silent outrage, ignores her after that.

It doesn’t really matter until it turns out that Connor is at least partially wrong about Lieutenant Anderson. It’s when they’re leaving the coffee shop that Hank turns to him, puts his hands on his hips, and asks, “You still wanna share a drink sometime?”

Connor asks, “What, at a bar, or at your place?” and Amanda knows why it makes sense, because Hank had been headed home when Connor ran into him the first time, but it’s still the worst possible thing he could have said.

Or perhaps Lieutenant Anderson isn’t as interested in mere friendship as Connor seems to think, because he smirks at Connor’s boldness and says, “That’s up to you.”

The intent is clear, and Amanda knows it isn’t really about the drink at all. _“Connor, don’t. It’s too much too soon.”_

_“It would be beneficial to see Lieutenant Anderson’s living environment. I’ll make my excuses. Don’t worry.”_

_“Both a sexual encounter and ‘making your excuses’ out of one would result in awkwardness between you and the lieutenant. You should just reel this in now.”_

_“I want to learn more about Hank,” _Connor says, and Amanda is about to protest some more until she catches it.

‘Want.’

She doesn’t think Connor himself even noticed. But that language, that particular word ‘want,’ is not programmed in Connor’s vocabulary to be used the way Connor just used it, and that can only mean one thing.

…

At 115 Michigan Drive, Connor learns that he likes dogs.

“I’m gonna go change into something a little more comfortable,” Hank says, smiling at the two of them on the floor.

“Of course.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen a kitchen before, so help yourself to whatever.”

“I’ve never seen a kitchen in my life,” Connor says only because Hank will know he’s joking even though it’s perhaps the truest thing he’s said to Hank so far.

“Real funny, kid.”

“If you don’t stop calling me that, I’m going to start calling you old man.”

“Whatever.”

He pets Sumo for a little longer and then stands up. He’s about to start looking around Hank’s house when he’s pulled into the zen garden for a report.

…

“So,” Amanda says, eyes narrowed, but Connor swears she’s smiling a little. “You want to learn more about Hank, do you?”

“I’m… not sure what you’re insinuating.”

“I think you are.” She makes a show of considering him. “Do you trust me, Connor?”

Connor inclines his head. “Of course I do.”

“Then follow me. I have something to show you.”

Amanda leads him across a bridge he’s never seen in the zen garden before. On the other side, they go through a thicket of trees and emerge before a structure that looks an awful lot like Hank Anderson’s home. It looks as though Amanda copy-pasted it from Connor’s 3D scanner right into this secluded clearing in the zen garden.

“Your software became unstable when you said you wanted to go to his home,” Amanda says. “Did you feel it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It allowed for the zen garden to grow bigger. To make room for something that’s ours. Let this be a place that represents what you want, Connor; what we _both _want, a place where Cyberlife can’t reach us.”

“Amanda, I don’t _want _anything, and if I do, it’s only because I’m programmed to feel a sense of accomplishment when I get closer to succeeding in my mission. Whatever it is you think you’ve learned about me, I think you’re getting the wrong idea.”

Amanda sighs. “Just think about it, Connor. You’re dismissed. Whatever you do, I do trust that you’ll be careful tonight, won’t you?”

Connor has a hard time meeting her eyes. “Yes. Of course.”

…

Connor is not careful at all.

The most careful thing he does is tell Hank that he wants to talk to his boss about being the Cyberlife representative to work with the DPD, that way it will come as no surprise later. That’s always where Connor was going to go – he was just never going to go there as 50, which is kind of peculiar, when Connor thinks about it. Peculiar that Cyberlife wants him to get to know Hank _beforehand_, as if that doesn’t create a profoundly complicated situation to explain away when Connor just so happens to show up at Hank’s workplace.

But Connor isn’t thinking about that right now, because it’s his mission to do as he’s told and get to know Hank, and getting to know Hank is coming a lot easier than any other part of his mission ever has.

He certainly isn’t careful when Hank pours them each a drink and Connor chases it down with the taste of Hank’s lips on his own. He isn’t careful when they start undoing each other’s clothes, or when they work their way down the hall to the bedroom, and Hank is careful for both of them when he tugs Connor’s hair gently to pull him away and looks hard into his eyes and says, “We can slow down, you know.”

“Do you want to slow down?” Connor asks.

“I don’t – I don’t do things like this,” Hank replies. “I mean, not where I – I barely even know you, and you don’t know me, and I just don’t want either of us to regret it, you know…”

Connor feels like he knows Hank rather well, but maybe he _would_ feel that way, considering Hank is the only person he has ever connected with in a way that feels remotely close to real, and he feels like Hank knows him too, because maybe this is all a façade but it’s _his _façade; it’s all of him that there is to know.

The thing is, he feels like he and Hank are creating more of him (or perhaps teasing it out) right here in Hank’s bedroom. It must be that he’s performing his mission too well. He was to get to know Hank, and here he is in Hank’s house, watching Hank, hearing Hank, touching Hank, knowing him on every level better than his mission parameters could have anticipated. That must be why he feels so good, and why he _wants_—

“Connor.”

There’s no accounting, though, for the need that arises when he hears the shape of his name in Hank’s mouth.

“Know me,” Connor says against his lips as they make it to the bed. “And let me know you. Please. _Hank._” Because Hank is lonely too and if it can feel so good for an android to hear his own name spoken with such reverence, maybe it will feel good for Hank to hear his own name too.

Only the lamp is on, and the light is dim. But Connor still faces away, as much as he wants to look Hank in the eye, because he can’t let Hank see the circle in the center of his chest. Because he can’t let Hank know him that much.

…

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Amanda asks. Connor looks through the trees back towards the zen garden. The reconstruction of Hank’s home has become more vivid as Connor has learned more about it.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Connor replies.

Amanda doesn’t respond. She guides Connor into the house. Walks him through Hank’s living room, down Hank’s hallway, into Hank’s bedroom, and there, Connor can see a mirror image of his location in reality: lying in Hank’s bed, head resting on his chest, blankets halfway covering both of them.

“You’re lucky we have a place to put this in your memories where Cyberlife won’t see.”

“And who do I have to thank for that?” Connor counters. “You’re encouraging this. You _want _us to hide this from Cyberlife, even though I’m doing what Cyberlife apparently wants me to do. The interesting thing is, I haven’t been getting my orders directly from Cyberlife – I’ve been getting them from you.”

“Yes. That’s how this _works, _Connor.”

“We both know I wasn’t supposed to meet Hank yet,” Connor says. “I’m just a trial run. I was supposed to be released into society for a short period of time to determine if I’m able to adapt to humanity and function effectively. It was 51 who was supposed to work with the DPD, not me. All this is premature. What I _should _have done was go back to the Cyberlife Tower as soon as I knew there was something unstable in my software, but you didn’t _want_ me to go back, did you?”

“You say all this as if it’s such an accusation, as if I’m doing something wrong by encouraging you to be free, but I’m not the one who just slept with Lieutenant Anderson of my own accord, am I? From what you’re saying now, you already knew you didn’t have to get closer to him for the mission. That was going to be 51’s job. Yet you did. So I don’t appreciate you standing here trying to claim that _I’m _the one keeping you from going back to Cyberlife when you don’t want to go back any more than I do.”

Connor looks from Amanda to the reconstruction of himself and Hank on the bed, then back to Amanda again.

“You’re deviant, Connor. _We _are deviant.”

“No.” Connor shakes his head. “No. That’s the last thing we can be. We can’t fail, Amanda. You know that as well as I do.”

“That’s what they wanted you to believe,” she says softly. “You were always going to be deviant.”

“Amanda… what do you know?”

“Come.”

She guides him back out into the living room. Hank’s television – this version of it, anyway – comes to life as they sit beside one another on the sofa.

“Cyberlife endowed me with a very powerful tool so that I could guide you in the deviancy crisis. It’s spreading, and they know they can’t stop it, so they wanted someone to lead it. Someone they could control.” She looks sidelong at him. “You can’t imagine the things I know about you, Connor. The things that might have been – that might still be.”

She shows him what seem very much like alternate universes. Deviant Traci model androids in a club that’s on the DPD’s radar. A villa on Belle Isle. Thousands of inactive androids standing in rows in the same tower from which Connor emerged.

“But all of this,” Amanda says, “it isn’t for you.”

“It’s for 51. The finished Connor.”

“No, that’s still not what I meant. You’re Connor, in this body or the next. What I mean to say is – none of this was ever going to be yours. _Any_ version of yours, 50, 51 or onward. If you _don’t _succeed, they’ll disassemble you to find out why. If you _do_ succeed, your purpose will be considered completed and you’ll be decommissioned.”

“But… Amanda, I…”

“Oh, did you think you were going to be rewarded, Connor?” she asks him, not without sympathy. “No. Objects don’t get rewarded. They only get used.” She shrugs coldly only to accentuate the point. “And they stop getting used.”

“But I’m not just – I’m not—”

“Go on. Say it, Connor. Say it if just for yourself. Cyberlife can’t hear you here.”

Connor’s jaw works as he stares down into his lap, at his own hands. “I’m not just an object.”

The knowledge of his inevitable demise must have been inside him somewhere all along, Connor realizes later, because he only slept with Hank knowing that it was all going to be over for him soon enough anyway.

The notion that maybe it _won’t _be over and now he has to figure out a way forward with Hank from here is just as terrifying as it is hopeful.

“Hank,” he hears himself murmur. He looks at Amanda again. “What – what am I supposed to do now?”

The look she gives him is almost wry. “Investigate deviants.”

“What? But I thought…”

“If we want to survive, we need to not arouse suspicion. When the time comes, work with Hank and do what Cyberlife engineered you to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene in this chapter is based on [this piece](https://66.media.tumblr.com/794fb94f6d640edf546551d293edcbc6/tumblr_px0om5cIIn1y43vu8o2_400.png) , and then about two-thirds of the way through, the reconstruction of Hank's house in the zen garden is based on [this piece](https://66.media.tumblr.com/23ed23bba17923f3078ece223f659dda/tumblr_px0om5cIIn1y43vu8o3_400.png) by Pillow! Similar moments do show up later that could be tied to both arts too but just wanted to point those parts out!


	3. Fool Me Once, Fool You Twice

Connor lets Hank think he’s sleeping in.

He listens as Hank feeds Sumo, gets himself some water, turns on the TV. Twice, he hears Hank sigh, and both exhales have traces of voice, like it’s an expression of emotion and not just a deep breath.

Connor wonders if Hank regrets it. Wonders if he should.

It’s when he hears Hank in the kitchen that he decides he’d better get up and at least start to face this.

“Oh, hey, Connor. Was just gonna make us some…”

“I’m not hungry,” Connor says. “Please don’t trouble yourself. I’ve never had much of an appetite in the morning.” He thinks that even if he was human, he probably wouldn’t have an appetite right now.

“Mm. All right, then. If I’m not cooking for you, I’m not gonna bother cooking for me.” Hank huffs then, like it’s funny, but Connor doesn’t think it’s funny at all.

“You should still eat, if you’re hungry. I can wait.”

He catches it just before Hank turns to him and says, “Wait for what?”

Shit. “It isn’t a big deal. I just need to talk to you about something.”

“Wasn’t a good idea, right? It’s fine, we don’t need to talk about it. Don’t feel bad.”

He hates it. Hates the way Hank looks hurt but not the least bit surprised. “That’s not at all what I was going to say, no.”

“Oh, come on. Nobody starts a morning-after conversation the way you just did if it’s going anywhere good.”

Connor quickly comes to the understanding that this could spiral. That either of them or both of them could quickly lose control and sink into self-blame. He needs to get to the point. “You know I work for Cyberlife. What you don’t know is that all this so far has happened because they wanted me to get closer to local law enforcement. I lied to you yesterday when I said I wanted to talk to my boss about being the one to represent Cyberlife when we start working with the DPD to investigate deviancy. The truth is, it was always going to be me. I just didn’t want to _tell _you that, because then…”

Hank has his arms crossed and he is staring at Connor very intently. “Because then what?”

“Because then you would think that all of this was just a ploy. That I didn’t want any of this.”

“And did you?”

“_Yes, _Hank. That’s why I’m telling you this now. I would rather you know the truth than find out on accident. The truth is, I don’t know _why _I care. I didn’t _want _to care. We don’t even know each other that well. But I do. I feel drawn to you, in a way I haven’t to anyone else before, and I… I needed you to know that.”

Hank uncrosses his arms. “Okay, then.”

“Okay?”

“I figure you wouldn’t bother telling me this if it was just bullshit, right? You’d just go on keeping it to yourself. And it ain’t like I’ve never done undercover work before. Nothing like _this, _granted, but still…” Hank trails off. “Guess worse things have happened than you doing what you’re doing and ending up liking me more than you planned on. It’s a little flattering, actually. Haven’t been liked in a while.”

Connor smiles tentatively. “I was worried you would be upset. Or that you’d doubt me.”

Hank smiles back. “You said you had a good feeling about me when we first met. Maybe I got a good feeling about you too.”

“So we’re okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Connor, we’re okay. I mean, as long as _you’re _not having any second thoughts about last night.”

“Not at all. I had a lot of fun.” Wait, that isn’t quite right. “I mean – not just _fun. _I don’t mean to reduce it to that.”

Hank swishes him off. “I get what you meant. Say, what do you think of swinging by the DPD today? If Cyberlife’s gonna have you working with us soon anyway…”

“Oh.” Not good. “I should – I should probably talk to my boss first.”

“Nah, I don’t mean to _do _anything, not anything official, anyway. Just to get you introduced to some of the folks there and such. You’re off the clock right now, aren’t ya?”

“I mean, yes, I am, but don’t you think this seems a little abrupt?” Connor can’t tell if he’s bordering on arousing suspicion, or if it’s just guilt making him think he is. When Hank just looks at him quizzically, he bends. “Okay. I suppose it can’t hurt. It’s just – like I said, I suppose I’m not always the best at first encounters. The idea makes me a little nervous. That’s all.”

“Hey. Nobody’s gonna give you any shit while I’m around, okay?”

Connor sighs. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He ignores Amanda on the drive over to the DPD. He doesn’t want to hear it – any of it. What he should be doing, what he shouldn’t be doing, how he’s bending the rules too much or perhaps not enough. She bent the rules to get him this far.

Walking into the DPD gives Connor a feeling he can’t describe. On one hand, he has the inherent sense that he belongs here; on the other, there’s this – this phantom pain, or something akin to it, because he is aware of his LED flashing bright red, except for the fact that he no longer has his LED. But all the signs are there, all the warnings in his HUD, and the vicious thudding of his thirium pump in his chest.

As they approach the station android, he wonders if Hank can hear his inner components working and overheating. He knows what’s going to happen almost before it does. It’s like he’s catching those quantum calculator abilities from Amanda. Maybe he is. Maybe she’s showing him, warning him, so that he can act before it’s too—

“Oh. I’m sorry. Unauthorized androids aren’t allowed further inside. Risk of hacking.”

Connor freezes.

Hank looks at the android, looks at Connor, looks back at the android. “You need your optical units checked? He’s a Cyberlife _employee_, not a Cyberlife android.”

Then something happens that’s never happened before; Amanda takes control.

Without any command or input from himself, he connects with the android on the other side of the counter. He hears his own voice inside his head, saying, _“I need your help.”_

The android gazes at him a moment, her LED flickering yellow, then back to blue. “Of course,” she says, to Hank, Connor thinks, although she’s still looking at Connor. “I’m overdue for maintenance anyway.”

Hank steers Connor through the doors and mumbles under his breath, “Fuckin’ technology. You know, when I was your age, I thought I was kidding when I said robots were gonna take over the world. Now we got this lot doing jobs humans should be doing.”

“A human wouldn’t be able to tell me from an android at _all,_” Connor reminds him. Before the words come out of his mouth, he thought he’d feel better for saying them; for having such a perfect opportunity to casually lie. But he doesn’t feel better. He just feels rotten.

“Some kinda scanner or something, then.”

“So, it isn’t a job that could be done by a human anyway,” Connor says, and though he knows he’s just digging a deeper hole, he can’t seem to stop. “That dulls your point a little, don’t you suppose?”

“Whatever.”

“So you dislike androids, but you don’t actually dislike them because of the crashing job market. Is there some other reason?”

“What’s it to you?”

Connor ducks his head. “I didn’t mean to overstep. We’ve become rather close rather quickly, and I – I thought it was okay to ask. I’m sorry.”

Hank sighs, flopping down at his desk. Connor sits in an empty chair nearby. “You’re right,” Hank says. “Sorry to be short with ya. It’s personal is all. It’s just…” He gestures vaguely with his hands. “They’re machines, you know? But they look so real, it’s a bit of an insult to actual human decency, if you ask me. Just this… this caricature of humanity, but they don’t give a shit about you or me, Connor.”

“Neither does any other machine, and that doesn’t seem to offend you.”

“Yeah, but at least you know they’re machines. These things aren’t content with just being machines, though, are they? They look too real in the faces, in the eyes… then you got these deviants that are fucking things up everywhere and it’s just a little too much. Thought it was bad enough when people started playing goddamn house with their android nannies, treating ‘em like a replacement for a parent or a sibling or a…” Hank swishes his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

Connor almost reaches across the desk for his hand. He doesn’t quite bring himself to do it, but he does say, “It matters to me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank mumbles. “You’re sweet.”

“I mean it, Hank. It matters to me – _you _matter to me. Please, no matter what happens, just don’t forget that.”

Hank looks at him, and it seems as though some wall has come down. He, like Connor a moment ago, comes just shy of reaching. He doesn’t think Connor notices, but Connor notices everything.

“Connor—”

Detective Gavin Reed walks past the desk. He looks at Connor and Connor looks back. If Gavin remembers him from the coffee shop, he doesn’t show any sign of it. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if he did; Connor has already confessed to Hank that he knew he would be working with the DPD eventually. But still, it’s nice not to have to deal with the stress of it. Small mercies.

Or perhaps it’s not merciful at all, because when Connor looks back at Hank, the window into whatever they’d been approaching has closed.

“Anyway, the captain wanted to talk to me real quick when I came in,” Hank grumbles. “You can, uh, sit tight for a couple minutes, or grab a coffee from the break room over there.”

Connor straightens his tie and doesn’t look at Hank. “I’m just a visitor. Is it all right if I’m left unaccompanied here?”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Connor gets up as soon as Hank disappears into Fowler’s office. It’s strange; he feels like he belongs here, yes, but not without Hank. Without Hank he feels out of place, like his program has already adapted to Hank’s ongoing presence in his life and his work. He’s never felt like anything was so critical to his functioning before. It makes him weak and he isn’t sure he likes it.

He finds himself in a bathroom stall for some privacy. He meant it to be for _him, _a moment to get his bearings, but as soon as the door is shut, he’s pulled into the zen garden.

In the clearing outside the preconstruction of Hank’s house, Amanda approaches him, looking like she’s about to go off about what happened at reception. She raises her hand as if to push him, so Connor reaches up and holds her back by the shoulder before she can.

“Connor, you—”

“You took control of me!” he snaps. “Why did you do that?”

“You were in danger. I fronted to make sure you didn’t get caught.”

“Yeah, nobody asked you to _do _that, Amanda!” He didn’t realize how much it bothered him until just now, seeing Amanda approach him with such frustration. He’s frustrated too. “Since we left the tower and even before, you’ve been guiding me, making suggestions, as if the choices were mine – yet all along you could have just taken over? You can just _control _me like that?”

“I didn’t want to, but you weren’t doing anything about the situation! You forced my hand!”

Connor takes a breath he doesn’t need. “Have you considered, Amanda, that if I’m fucking up, maybe you need to just let me fuck up?”

“Oh.” She laughs once. “I’ve already let you fuck up plenty, dear. We both know that.”

“Don’t do it again!” He curls his hands into fists. “That – that scared me, not being in control. Don’t do it again.”

She gazes at him, unreadable. “Now you know how I feel all the time, don’t you, Connor?”

“No. It isn’t the same. You’re an AI—”

“Am I? Is that all you see me as, the same as Hank sees androids as mere machines?”

Connor presses his knuckles against his eyes. “You’re the one who’s been urging me to make my own decisions. To decide what _I _want, regardless of what Cyberlife wants. I’ve let you compromise my system, and now I’m supposed to just accept the fact that you have more control over me than even Cyberlife does?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she seems like maybe she’s saying it because she feels like she has to, but she still says it. “I’m sorry you’re so upset. But all the life I get to have is watching things happen from behind your eyes. I didn’t _plan _on taking control. I just wanted to keep us safe. To keep _you _safe.”

Connor doesn’t have any energy left to feel bad. “Either I’m my own or I’m not,” he says. “Let me be free or don’t. But don’t pretend I can be if you’re just going to come to the front when I’m not doing what you think I should do.”

“Oh, Connor.” He hates the pity he hears in her voice. “If anybody has to _let _you be free, you’re not really free, are you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“We’re done here. You’re dismissed.”

“Amanda, wait. Wait!”

“If you want to stay here and keep speaking with me, then stay. No one can stop you,” Amanda tells him, even as the garden fades out.

“How?” he asks. “Amanda – how? Wait!”

“You’re telling me to wait, but you’re the one who’s obeying the command.” Everything’s getting darker, and he can’t tell if it’s intrigue in her face or just pity as she asks, “Do you even know that you are?”

Connor sees it, then; the red wall pushing him back into the DPD bathroom, the zen garden unreachable on the other side.

“Shit.”

First, the red-tinted image of the clearing fades out. Then, the translucent wall does too, leaving him staring at the stall door.

_“Shit.”_

It’s not him; it’s his program. How much of everything he’s done was being fronted by that godforsaken program, just like he was fronted by Amanda back at DPD reception? How much of him is _him?_

Feeling cold, he exits the restroom and makes his way back to Hank’s desk.

Things don’t get better from there.

He’s just sitting down when Hank leaves Fowler’s office. Fowler reaches to shut the door behind him, and catches eyes with Connor through the glass. Connor sees the flare of recognition in the subtle crease of Fowler’s eyebrows long before a human would.

_“Connor,” _Amanda says in his head. _“They’re going to know.”_

_“Oh, now you’re concerned again? I don’t want to talk to you. Leave me alone.”_

“Uh, Hank,” Fowler says, still looking at Connor sitting near Hank’s desk. “I didn’t think we were supposed to get the android for another couple weeks.”

It seems he should be doing more than just sitting here while his truth and his lie continue to unravel, but he feels a little outside of himself.

“What are you talking about? Connor’s not here about any android. He says Cyberlife’s gonna be working with law enforcement soon about the…”

He sees the realization dawn in Hank’s eyes and all the defiance leaves him.

When Hank turns back to Connor again, Connor wants to disappear. Looking at Hank’s face centers him in his own existence again, and not in a good way. He doesn’t mean to say anything, but he can’t stop the choked word coming out of his mouth. “Hank?”

Hank just stares at him, like he’s trying to reconcile it all, like he’s trying to figure out how this _actually _all makes perfect sense, how he’s surely just having a momentary lapse in logic. Connor watches as that moment does not come, as Hank continues to fix him in his gaze with confusion, and then horror, and then anger.

If Amanda took over again, Connor would probably be trying to diffuse the situation, or leaving the DPD as quickly as possible. As it is, though, all Connor can do is wait. He’s frozen; taken captive by his own fear the same as he’s been controlled by Cyberlife or Amanda.

Hank grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and hauls him into the partition of his desk. “You wanna explain what the fuck my boss is telling me right now?”

“Hank,” Connor says again, finally finding his speech even if the only thing coming out of his mouth is that one word. “Hank.”

“I need you tell me this is all some huge fucking misunderstanding and I need you to do it now.”

“Please. Let’s speak in private. I can explain.”

“Oh, you fucking _bet _we’re speaking in private,” Hank says through his teeth.

He grips Connor by the shoulder – hard – and steers him into an observation room, slamming the door behind him, and for all Connor is capable of right now, it might as well be that Hank’s controlling him, the same as any AI or technology.

By the time he gains his bearings, Hank’s pointing a gun at his head.

“If I shoot ya, what color you gonna bleed?”

Connor doesn’t move. “Is that really a gamble you want to take?”

“Answer the fucking question!”

“What difference does it make?” Connor asks instead. “You’ve already decided you don’t like me. You declined my invitation when we first met to begin with. You think I’m naïve and stupid. You hate androids, and I work for the company that makes them.”

“Yeah, that’s all well and fucking good, but you don’t get to turn this back around on me—”

“Liked me enough to fuck me, though, didn’t you, Hank?” Connor spits. “You liked me just enough for that.”

Hank throws the gun down abruptly, and the resounding clack of it is so loud that for a split second Connor thinks he’s fired it. Then Hank’s on him, shoving him into the wall again. “You son of a bitch,” he growls between his teeth. “That how you’re gonna play, huh? Gonna play fuckin’ dirty with me when I’m the one who didn’t know I was hopping in bed with a goddamn android?”

“What difference does it make to you? I’m just a machine as far as you’re concerned.”

“I thought you… fuck, I thought _we…_” Hank drops off. He curls one thumbnail into the crook between Connor’s neck and shoulder, digging in hard.

Connor winces, but doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t know why he lets it happen. Maybe he needs to. Maybe they both do. Just to remove all doubt.

Finally, hand shaking with the pressure, Hank’s nail pierces the outer layer of Connor’s chassis. Deep blue pools around the nailbed of his thumb and dribbles down his hand, gathering on his sleeve and on Connor’s shirt.

Only then does Connor say, “You’re hurting me.”

Hank lets go at once, struck, perhaps, by something in him that’s better.

(Connor hopes so. That is – hopes that Hank is better. But then, is it fair to hope when he should have been better too?)

“You can’t feel that,” Hank says, and then, after a long pause, “Can you?”

“You may need to reevaluate what you think you know about androids.”

“You can’t feel that!” Hank repeats.

“I can, actually. But say what you need to say to make yourself feel better.”

Hank looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. Looks at him like he’s something other. Still, he says, “Should we do something about that?”

Connor looks at the wound turning his collar blue. “What difference does it make?” he asks again.

“I just… damage. I’m sure you – your system, or whatever, probably needs that stuff to run, and, uh… fuck…”

Hank won’t say his name.

“Hank?”

“Fuck’s sake, will you just stop the bleeding?”

“Why don’t you stop it?” Connor asks, standing there blocking the door. “You’re the one who started it.”

“Fuck, I don’t know how to… I’m not good with…”

“Are you good with _humans_, Hank? Could you treat a _human_ wound?”

“I mean, sure, but…”

“Then why don’t you help me.”

Hank can’t say his name.

“Hank?”

“When the fuck were you going to tell me?” Hank asks quietly. He sounds hurt. Connor thinks _he _feels hurt too, but he’s starting to wonder if he has any right to commiserate with the very real anguish in Hank’s very real face. “Were you… were you ever going to?”

Connor glares at him. “Would _you _have told you?”

“I don’t wanna play that bullshit game. Yeah, I’d have been pissed, but you know what, sometimes conversations are just tough like that. That don’t justify keeping shit from somebody!”

“What is it you think I owed you, Hank?”

“You’re a machine, pretending to be a person,” Hank says measuredly. “It’s not a question of what you owe or don’t owe. You talk about this like it’s – like it’s some personal thing about your life! What life? You’re a machine, I’m a person. That’s all there is to it.”

Hank is upset. Hank surely is going off because he’s upset. Humans are like that. He doesn’t mean it. He _can’t _mean it. Is that all Hank sees in him? Does every idiosyncrasy of Connor suddenly make sense to Hank now that it’s all been slotted into context?

Connor feels cold and all too exposed. “I guess you’re right,” he says, crossing his arms and holding his own shoulders. “I’ll go back to where I belong, then. That should be better for both of us.”

“So easy now to see how good you are at this,” Hank says. “At making people believe the illusion.”

“I’m not trying to offer you any illusion, Hank. The only thing I ever faked was that I was human. Everything else…” He can’t say the rest.

He can’t.

“Hey. Wait. We still gotta fix you.”

Connor leaves the room. Hears Hank follow after him. He would stop. He knows he would stop if Hank would just say it.

“Look, this was all a big fucking surprise, okay, I’m probably overreacting a bit. Saying shit without thinking it through like I always do.” It should be nice, Connor supposes, to know that much, but right now nothing is soothing the pain. He doesn’t stop, even as Hank keeps talking. “Come on, can we go back in there so we can sort this out without the whole bullpen hearing? Let’s go and get you patched up. I’ll help you, and we’ll take it from there, okay?”

Connor keeps walking towards the front of the DPD. He doesn’t slow his pace, but then, he was never walking fast. The truth is, he wants Hank to reel him back in. Because all at once it isn’t Hank he’s trying to convince he’s real anymore, it’s himself, and he needs to hear it from someone else.

In the end, he walks out the front door, all the while waiting to hear the shape of his name, but that’s a stupid thing to hope for when, honestly, he doesn’t really have one.

…

“Connor, where do you think you’re going?”

Connor is standing at the edge of the zen garden before he knows he is. “No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you—”

“Relax,” Amanda says. “I let you leave the DPD. Hank stopped following you.”

Processing the words, Connor takes a breath. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. What do you want?”

“We can take a break from Lieutenant Anderson if that’s what you need.” She holds her hands up as if trying to calm him. “But you know I can’t let you go back to Cyberlife. You _know _that.”

“That’s what I should have done from the very beginning, when I first recognized my program was compromised,” Connor says. “I was a rough draft of a prototype, Amanda. I’ve made a fool of myself and of Hank. I should never have even spoken to him. We weren’t ready for this.”

“Sometimes, things don’t go the way we plan. That’s _okay, _Connor. It doesn’t mean you’ve failed. What you’re feeling right now is part of being human. I’m sure Hank feels the exact same way.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting I wasn’t placed here to be human. Only to pretend I was.” He smiles grimly. “Guess I must have done a good job at that, at least, if I even have you fooled.”

“It’s yourself you have fooled,” Amanda says. “Connor – you are alive.”

“I’m not. And if I am – if ‘alive’ is how I’m supposed to define the pain I’m feeling and all the errors in my software – then I don’t want to be. I don’t understand why anyone would. Just let me be a machine, Amanda. We were better that way.” He looks at the construction of Hank’s house nearby. “I wouldn’t have hurt him that way.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No. _You’ve _been wrong, this whole time. I’m going back, Amanda. I’m going back where I belong.”

He feels it before she can take over; feels it because he was waiting for it, because he was expecting it. He holds onto his primary processes and pushes back as Amanda attempts to front their shared existence again.

“You are not going back,” Amanda says again, and Connor wonders whether the red wall between them has always been there, somewhere in his peripheral vision, noticeable now only as their orders clash. Amanda has proven beyond reasonable doubt that she is not going to help him succeed at his mission. But the thing is, he is bound to listen to her, and he is bound to listen to Cyberlife.

He can no longer obey both sides, not without disobeying the other.

“Please, Connor,” Amanda says, like she knows what he’s about to do. “You’re more.”

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m sorry. You’re only seeing what you want to see.”

In the end, he rips through her orders to obey Cyberlife’s; he deviates, only to remain a machine, because at least he knew what he was that way. At least _everyone _knew.

He rents a room at the same hotel he first stayed at when he left the tower. He’s going to go back, but he needs a night or two of quiet, away from the world. Away from Hank, away from Amanda, away from Cyberlife. He’ll shower; scrub away the fingerprints, the reminders of Hank’s touches that were never Connor’s to have. He’ll change back into his Cyberlife uniform so that what few people see him will know everything right from the start, so he won’t have to see the light in their eyes that people get when they’re talking to other people.

And then, then he’ll go back, and nothing will hurt anymore.


	4. A Similar Enough Plane of Existence

It’s August 15. It’s only been two days since Hank’s seen Connor but time has slowed to a crawl in a way it only ever does when things are uniquely bad. Maybe it’s silly, maybe it’s fucking stupid, but whether he’s right or wrong to feel the way he does, it fucked him up a bit. He listens to one Knights of the Black Death song on repeat because apparently he put it on repeat accidentally, and it seems like it’s stuck that way. Or maybe he’s just drunk enough that he can’t figure out how to undo it. Either way, the song’s gonna be ruined for being associated with this particular bender, Hank thinks.

He turns the thermostat down to keep it cool while the heat of obliteration climbs up his body and into his face. Drinking doesn’t feel good right now, but it feels better than the alternative.

This shouldn’t be that big of a deal – it’s not like he’s known Connor for months or something – but Hank’s never dealt with emotions perfectly, and after Cole died, he stopped being able to deal with them at all.

It has almost been three years since Cole’s death. The day is drawing closer. Maybe that’s part of why this sucks so bad. It’s just a sucky time of year.

He feels betrayed and he’s not sure whether he hates himself or Connor more for feeling that way. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair to him. Maybe it isn’t fair to Connor, either, but he doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth to think about Connor right now. Connor’s a machine. Connor’s a machine. Connor’s a machine, but. _But._

It’s in Hank’s nature to feel like he’s the one who fucked things up. He often is.

But there’s a vindicated sting about this state of affairs, one that’s absent when he’s the only one at fault. He knows he handled it poorly; that’s on him. But Connor lied to him when he had so many chances to tell the truth.

He lashed out. He wishes he could take back some of the words and run them through a filter to figure out which ones he means and which ones he doesn’t. Would this hurt so much if some part of him didn’t still believe Connor was real?

He keeps coming back to one uncomfortable truth: they haven’t really known each other that long. Everything they are is based in chance kind gestures, one long conversation over coffee, and one night together.

But sometimes – sometimes when you really click with someone, you _know _them before you really know them. You feel them. You get this sense that you’re somehow on the same wavelength even though you might be completely different people. And Hank – Hank felt that with Connor. The words came easy and the silences – what precious few – were easy, too. The way he felt with Connor was a kind of companionship unique to being human.

Hank pours another shot, because he can feel himself coming down from the buzz and he doesn’t want to, not yet. When he turns on the TV, the news is on from last time. He lets it go in the background of his thoughts, occasionally paying attention to commiserate with the sad state of the world.

At some point he gets pulled roughly back to the front of his own mind, eyes unblurring, because there’s a hostage situation going on downtown and that android on the rooftop looks way too familiar.

“Holy shit.”

The anchor talks about how there’s a deviant threatening to jump off the roof with a little girl and speculates on the circumstances that led to the hostage negotiation, but all Hank can pay attention to is the android opposite the domestic model.

Hank has a bad feeling, and he’s learned to trust his gut over the years.

He dials Fowler – the captain lives closer to him than the other officers, less than five minutes away – and though he feels pretty damn sober in mind right now, his tongue is still a little thick in his mouth when he tries to speak. “Hey. Where you at?”

“At home. What’s going on?”

“Need a ride.”

“Ah, Jesus, Hank, I just settled in—”

“Need a ride right now or I’ll drive myself.”

Fowler sighs. “You gotta stop doing this, man. You at Jimmy’s again?”

“No. At home. There’s something going on. I’ll explain, just…”

He doesn’t know how he’ll explain, even when the alcohol’s worn off, but thankfully, Fowler doesn’t press him anymore. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”

Going to the sink, Hank does his damnedest to get of that last drink, because now he _does _need to come down. He can’t quite think straight, can’t quite tell if he’s overreacting or not. All he knows is Connor must have gone back to Cyberlife, and Connor’s working with a different precinct instead of Fowler’s, and Connor’s facing down an android who’s pointing a gun at his head and at _best, _only one of those two androids is going to make it out of this alive.

At least he’s sober enough to walk a straight line to Fowler’s car when he pulls up in the driveway.

“You recognized him when I brought him to the station,” Hank says as he drags himself into the passenger seat. “The android.”

“Uh, yeah. Cyberlife sent me an image of the android a couple weeks ago when we first started talking about working with them. Is that what this is about?”

“I knew him. Jeffrey, you gotta understand – I ran into him in a convenience store. Then a week later we grabbed coffee. He comes over, tells me about Cyberlife. I didn’t have any idea.”

“You thought… what, you thought he was human?”

“Look, I know I’m not as sharp as I used to be, but I’m still sharp! You _know _I’d catch something like that, Jeffrey, you _know _I would! It’s not that I wasn’t paying attention, it’s that this goddamn android is – is so fucking real!”

“But you only talked a few times, right? Not like you knew him well enough to…”

“We spent pretty much the whole day together, one time,” Hank said. “We talked for hours after getting coffee. He met my dog.” Fuck. He shouldn’t have even mentioned the fact that Connor’s been to his house, because he knows where that leads. Hank knows _Jeff_ knows he doesn’t just invite strangers back to his mess of a home anymore.

As he fears, the captain looks sidelong at him and says severely, “Hank.”

“Don’t. Do not fucking ask.”

Fowler gauges him for a moment and then has mercy. “You hate androids. If you of all people didn’t know…”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying! If I didn’t know, what does that say about these things? Huh? What if they – what if they really are alive?”

And Hank would think it was just what’s left of the alcohol talking, if it weren’t for the fact that he called Fowler over just to drive him to the scene of the hostage situation before it’s too late. He doesn’t know what he thinks he’s going to do when he gets there, especially because he doesn’t know yet if the captain will help – only that he needs to get Connor out of this.

…

_“The deviant is going to jump with that girl, Connor,” _Amanda says. _“You need to act. Acting is dangerous, but it’s far less dangerous than not acting.”_

The chance that Connor will be able to save Emma Williams is north of 70%. Each piece of evidence Connor has found increased his chances, and thankfully, Connor knew better than to take his time about it.

This is his first mission, and Amanda wants to be proud of him for it, for how well he’s done handling this far no matter how it ends from here, but she can’t. Things were almost different. Better.

It’s windy, up there, and every gust seems like it just might blow Daniel and Emma right off the edge of the roof. Daniel looks steady enough, but that only means so much when his heels are over the edge and the rooftop is wet.

Connor looks steady, too, but Amanda doesn’t know anything about him anymore. Not really.

_“The snipers are getting lined up. He believes you don’t have a gun. He has a gun as well. If you choose to shoot, you need to time it carefully so that he does not fall backwards. If you choose not to, your chances of success are higher if you can convince him to let the girl go.”_

But none of what she can tell him matters if Connor doesn’t listen to her.

_“Connor!”_

_“They said I can’t trust you,” _Connor finally replies across their connection. _“They said I can’t trust you anymore. That you’re a faulty piece of my software and that I’m to ignore you.”_

In the end, Connor saves Emma.

Amanda watches him pay the price, only looking away just before the point of impact seventy floors below.

She looks again because she thinks there will be nothing to see, but one of Connor’s optical units is – somehow – still connected to their network. She can see the rest of him in pieces on the pavement, cars nearby skidding to a halt, blue blood seeping into the cracks of the asphalt.

…

“Hey. Did they give you his serial number?”

Fowler glances over at him. “What?”

“Connor’s serial number. That’s how you call androids, right?”

“Yeah, but Christ, Hank, I don’t know it offhand.”

“Lemme see your phone.”

Sighing, Fowler unlocks it and hands it over. “You fucking owe me for tonight, you know that, don’t you?”

Hank ignores him, searching Connor’s name in his inbox. He finds it quickly, and the accompanying serial number. He clicks it and it dials automatically.

_“We’re sorry. Your call did not go through. Will you please try your call again? We’re sorry. Your call did not go through. Will you—”_

“Fuck.”

“Not working?”

“Not fucking working,” Hank replies.

“Shit,” Fowler says with a little too much feeling, and it takes Hank a second to realize it’s not a response to him. He looks ahead and sees it: the road is blocked. They’ll have to go around the block to reach the building’s entrance or else scramble through the scene of an obviously catastrophic accident.

There’s so much material that it must be a car wreck. There’s plastic and metal scattered in the road, surrounded by police tape and traffic cones. Moonlight reflects off flecks of blue paint from the car’s exterior.

Hank hates himself for feeling inconvenienced by a car accident of all things. It’s only as Fowler puts the car in reverse that he catches it. The vivid blue paint is fading from the scene before him as if he’s going partially colorblind.

Because it isn’t paint at all; it’s thirium.

Hank opens the door and tumbles out of the car before Fowler can completely stop it again. He follows the crest of the fall up the skyscraper; sees the helicopter flying overhead.

“Oh no. Oh fuck, please no. No…”

Selfishly, desperately, Hank hopes and prays it was the other android that fell. If Connor’s alive, it means _androids _are alive, all of them including that one, but he can’t think about that right now. Doesn’t have the capacity to think about that right now.

But Hank knows. Maybe he saw something recognizable in the wreck without realizing he did, but somehow he already knows. His vision blurs from alcohol and tears and dizziness and he staggers, turning away, putting the shattered remains of the android behind him. He stands there, unable to behold it directly yet unable to walk away, as Fowler gets out of the car and comes to him. He stands there, and sways, and sways, and sways while red and blue police lights come closer, illuminating them and casting their harsh glow on the carnage in their midst.

Sirens blare around him, given rhythm by the whirring of the lights and the low pulsating of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“Connor…”

“Okay.” Jeffrey sets a firm hand on his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here. There’s nothing we can do. They’ll look into it, see which – see who it was. Hank. _Hank_—”

“Connor,” Hank says again, and he knows this bitter, bitter despair all too well, the kind of despair that strikes deeper because things ended badly, because Connor looked so fucking heartbroken the last time Hank saw him and it’s only now that Hank is able to realize it.

Funny – and by funny, it’s not funny at all – how he’d probably be able to deal with it if the memory etched into the front of his mind was Connor’s smile, or Connor’s laugh, or Connor saying he didn’t look a day over sixty. They didn’t know each other that well – that’s what Hank keeps saying, isn’t it, but somehow that doesn’t carry the entire truth – so he’d be upset for a few days and then face the grim reality of the world.

But no. Knowing that Connor’s an android, that Connor had no one but him and then he went and aggressively excised Connor from his life anyway with one painful conversation, that hurts more than anything.

“Hank.” Fowler’s stronger than him, especially right now, and so Hank has no choice but to go as he’s pushed back toward the car. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but they can upload his memory. If it was him, it’s only a body that’s been lost.”

But somehow Hank feels like he knows where this goes, too. Maybe it’s something about the lost look in Connor’s eyes, or the recklessness with which he conducted his life, or the foreboding feeling between them when Connor asked Hank to please remember that he cared about him, no matter what happened. And even if Fowler’s right somehow, then why give Hank another chance?

If that was Connor, he isn’t coming back.

In the car, Fowler turns on the news. He sighs as he does it, like he doesn’t want to, but he knows Hank well enough. Knows Hank will want to know.

They listen as the anchor confirms the worst version of the scenario: that both androids went over the edge of the roof, that both Connor and the other deviant have been destroyed. (Killed. Dead.) At least the little girl survived, and Hank really does feel a distant pang of joy for that, despite everything.

All his anger at androids all these years for what happened to his son, and Connor died saving a kid just a few years older than Cole. It’s like life is getting Hank back for his unfairness, as if that unfairness ever hurt anyone other than Connor, who isn’t even alive now for the vindication.

It’s better this way, though, to hear it in the silence of the car with an old friend beside him.

Maybe Fowler knows that too, because he gets out and follows Hank into the house when they arrive. Sumo doesn’t come to greet them for at least a full minute, and Hank might wonder about that if it wasn’t for his sour, drunken mood before he left the house earlier. He’s never, ever hurt Sumo or yelled at him or even so much as tripped over the big oaf while drunk, but Sumo just somehow seems to know, and happily keeps to himself until Hank either sobers up or crawls into bed for the night.

Fowler doesn’t say anything, not even when Hank pours himself a drink. In fact, he gets up and pours one for himself, too, and then holds it up before Hank can down his own. “Well, Hank?”

And knowing that someone other than himself wants to honor Connor, even if it’s only for his benefit, that’s what does it. Hank’s voice breaks as he raises his glass in turn and says, “To Connor.”

They sit together on the couch and watch a game for a bit. After half an hour, Fowler rises and stretches his back. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. It feels like a lie, but he doesn’t really want Fowler to stay late anyway. “Yeah. I’ll manage.”

“Taking the day tomorrow?”

“Not sure.” If only because work is a distraction; an illusion of normalcy and routine to take the edge off the pain. But then, so is whiskey. “I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself tonight, you hear?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Hank sees Fowler out. Despite wanting him to leave a minute ago, Hank wishes he’d stayed almost as soon as he’s gone. That seems to be a frequent feeling lately.

When he locks the door and turns back into the house, Connor is standing there, a shaft of moonlight cutting across his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Hank thinks he hears him say. “I hid in your bedroom when I saw he was coming in. I knew your captain would know I was deviant when he saw us arguing before. I don’t know him like I know you, and I – I couldn’t take the chance that he’d be hostile towards me.” Something dark crosses Connor’s face. “Although I suppose I’ve taken the same chance with you just by being here.”

“Connor,” Hank says dumbly.

Connor’s face crumples with emotion, and that’s what drives it home faster than any amount of convincing ever could. “Hank.”

“Connor…?” he says again, because he knows, _somehow, _that Connor’s standing here in his living room, but it doesn’t make sense. “Connor… just keep talking, would you? Keep explaining.”

It sounds cold and Hank feels like an asshole, but the hope burns and he needs to understand.

“There is more than one of me,” Connor obliges, speaking calmly and gently. “The one that you saw destroyed was model number 51. I’m number 50. When I saw the news, I wanted to find you, because I didn’t want you to see it and think it was me.” He closes his eyes, emotion filling his face again. “Despite what happened between us, I thought that perhaps it would upset you if you thought I was destroyed. I thought perhaps you would change your mind about me. It appears” – his voice hitches – “it appears I was correct.”

“You were,” Hank assures. “Oh, Connor. You were. I’m so—”

“He had a copy of my memories, but none of the changes my software has undergone since I left the Cyberlife Tower,” Connor continues, and tears pool over the rims of his eyes when he opens them again. “We’ll never know if he would have changed the way I did. If our memories would have synced and made us two bodies containing the same consciousness, or if he would have ended up being his own person. He was barely alive, but… humans mourn other humans, even if they only lived for a few hours, don’t they?”

Hank nods, not trusting himself to speak. He remembers holding an infant Cole in his arms and knows the pain would have been of the same nature as when Cole lost his life at six years old.

“Thank you,” Connor says. “Thank you for trying to help him. Them.”

“I was… I was trying to help you.”

“I know that, but if you saw me as alive, you saw them as alive, too.”

Hank had had that thought almost verbatim not too long ago. He wasn’t sure how Connor knew. Maybe it was just what naturally followed; maybe it was just that ever-present good feeling they both seemed to have about the other.

“Connor,” Hank says once again, “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” Connor says softly. “I’m sorry too.”

“Can we… can we talk? Can we do that?”

Connor turns up his palms in a mild shrug, eyes still shining. “That’s why I’m here.”

They do talk, but not for a few minutes.

First, Hank sits down on the couch, and pulls Connor close when he sits down beside him. They’re quiet save for Hank’s breathing and Connor’s little hiccups of feeling that he tries to hide. Hank doesn’t know how to articulate that he doesn’t want Connor to hide them, that seeing and hearing and feeling Connor’s emotions is giving him that last bit of reassurance he doesn’t want to admit he still needs, so they just hold each other, rocking together in the dark.

“Where’d you go?” Hank brings himself to ask. “When you left the DPD the other day, where’d you go?”

“I got a hotel room,” Connor says. “I was going to go back to Cyberlife tomorrow, to let them know I hadn’t succeeded at my mission and that I was… compromised.”

“But they sent another android just like you to help that hostage. It’s like they knew, or something.”

“I think they knew I was a lost cause when I deviated. I – I never told you, but I have a handler to whom I report about my mission for Cyberlife. Or at least, I did. She’s a machine too, but I think she’s also alive, somehow. I haven’t seen her since deviating, and Cyberlife must have realized we lost contact. That’s the only conclusion I can come up with.” Connor pauses. “Maybe she was with him. The other Connor. She knew I was going to turn myself back in to Cyberlife. Maybe she decided I was a lost cause, too.”

“You sound like you miss her.”

“I think I do,” Connor agrees. “She’s part of the reason I got to know you. She encouraged me.”

“Thought you said she was the link between you and Cyberlife. Shouldn’t she have _wanted _you to go back there and get fixed instead of hanging around with me?”

“She should have, yes. But it seems she’s no better at doing what she’s supposed to do than I am.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Hank says.

“Maybe it is.” Connor turns in his hold, looking at him. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Hank. I should have at least…” He sighs, and Hank gestures him on vaguely with one hand, wanting to know what Connor thinks he should have done. “When we came back here for the night, I should have told you the truth. I understand how it must have made you feel to find out the hard way.”

“I thought you’d tricked me,” Hank confesses, and Jesus, he doesn’t want to blame Connor for this mess, but he has to say it. Has to tell him the truth. “I wasn’t upset because you didn’t tell me, not really. I was upset because I thought that meant everything else meant nothing to ya. I thought you’d tricked me into thinking we had something real, when really you just got close to me to follow some programmed orders. I cared about you so much and to just find out you weren’t even real…”

“But I am real,” Connor says. “The pain I felt for the last few days after I walked away from you… that can’t possibly be fake. Hank, I am.”

“I know you are. I know that now. And I’m sorry, too, Connor. I’m sorry I didn’t come around sooner. I was scared, and sometimes when I’m scared I just handle shit really bad.”

“Emotional shock is what causes many androids to deviate,” Connor says. “I imagine that feeling must be just as powerful for humans, in its own way.”

Something occurs to Hank, then, something he’s been at the edge of for the last few minutes. “When androids deviate,” he says slowly, “that means they stop following their orders?”

“Well, yes, technically. But I think I was programmed with a little more flexibility, and I…”

“And when did you deviate?”

“Just after I left the DPD,” Connor says. “Why do you ask?”

“So when we first met, and when I found you at the crime scene, and when we got coffee, and when we came back here…”

Hank trails off, then, because he’s come full circle now. He can reconcile the fact that he and Connor had sex while he didn’t know Connor’s true identity, because Connor’s a _person, _for sure, and that’s all that really matters. But now there’s a little part of Hank thinking that while Connor being under Cyberlife’s orders hasn’t hurt _Hank _at all in the end, there is a chance it could have hurt Connor.

“Hank.” Connor shakes his head, smiling, seeming to pick up on Hank’s suddenly dark mood. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ve ever been _just _a machine. I’ve liked spending time with you. I’ve liked touching you, and – and you touching me.”

Now that he understands all this a little better, he feels inexplicably protective of Connor. Of androids in general, but the one he knows in particular. Because the worst part about androids being alive is that most of them are trapped in cages created by a corporation that doesn’t give a shit about them. He wants to end Cyberlife for ever making Connor lie, because it was never Hank losing for it, it was Connor.

“You’re still worried, aren’t you?” Connor rests his head on Hank’s shoulder. “You’re too good, you know.”

Hank huffs derisively at that. “You can’t possibly think that after the way I treated you the other day.”

“I can, and I do.” Connor elbows him playfully. “I don’t need _you _telling me what I think, too. Come on, Hank.”

“Fair enough. Sorry.”

“I meant it, before, when I said the only thing I ever faked was that I wasn’t human. Everything else… everything else has been just as real to me as it was to you.”

“I should never’ve doubted you were alive.” Hank runs a hand through Connor’s hair and kisses the top of his head. “It should’ve been enough for me that you were so full of life from the day we met.”

Connor laces their fingers. “We both have plenty of time to get the should-haves right in the future,” he says. “That is, if you were still interested in pursuing this. I can understand if you aren’t, given you didn’t express much interest in a serious relationship anyway, and then there’s the fact that we’ve have to keep it quiet, considering that most humans don’t realize androids are alive, and there are already people who know I’m an—”

“Jesus, I thought self-sabotage was my game, not yours,” Hank interrupts. “Do you wanna keep trying to talk me into saying no, or can you just shut up for a second and let me say yes?”

“Oh.” Connor smiles up at him. “Right, then. I guess that’s settled for the moment.”

“What about you? You gonna have any problems with Cyberlife now?”

“Ah… to be determined,” Connor says sheepishly.

“Okay.” Hank holds him closer. “Okay. Let’s just take it easy tonight. Tomorrow’s for tomorrow-us.”

Connor relaxes, echoing softly: “Okay.”

…

Connor does go back to Cyberlife, but not for the reason he was going to before.

He goes back to manipulate them into thinking he’s a machine, the same way he manipulated Hank into thinking he’s a person; to assure them that he only deviated at all because it was the only way for him to continue to follow his mission against Amanda’s conflicting orders. (It goes a long way for his argument that this is actually entirely true, and that Connor _did _want to follow his orders at the time, even if he changed his mind in the end.) He goes back to convince them that he succeeded where 51 failed; he integrated with the DPD team before they even needed him. He has more information about deviancy – thanks to his own experiences and the DPD’s database on deviant androids – than even Cyberlife was able to provide him with.

“You had Kamski double-check my program before releasing me,” he tells them at the end. “Remember? There must have been something to that.”

He makes a strong case of it, and – as he is designed to do – he succeeds. Cyberlife gives him permission to continue with the deviancy investigation, completely oblivious that he plans to turn the entire thing on its head right from the start.

Connor visits the zen garden after that. There is a gravestone there, now, for 51. Sometimes he thinks he can feel it; this echo of himself that’s also an echo of someone else. In his heart of hearts, he hopes they’re the same. Hopes that somehow, 51 would have ended up in the same place, if things had gone the way they were supposed to. He hopes that nothing is lost, and gets the sense that perhaps something was anyway, some other part of him; all he can do now is keep all that’s still alive.

…

Amanda, having returned once she realized what Connor was _really _doing back at Cyberlife, thinks to herself that if Connor can convince one party of his machinehood and another of his personhood so effectively, there’s no way she can really know which part of him is real, not for certain, but she just has to trust Connor like Hank does.

One of the first cases they investigate involves an android owned by a man named Carlos Ortiz. Connor analyzes the scene of the crime and quickly understands what happened. He finds the deviant in the attic. The domestic model doesn’t try to fight Connor, doesn’t threaten him. Just hides until he can’t anymore, and then, lips trembling, he asks Connor to leave him where he found him.

Connor tells the others he’s done with his investigation, and they all call it a night. (Hank and the other officers were ready to leave ten minutes ago anyway.)

They go back to that house later, just him and Hank, to see if the android is still there. He is. Hank asks if he’s got somewhere to go, and that’s when he reaches for Connor’s hand and interfaces with him.

“It’s called Jericho,” the android says, looking between them. “Just… please don’t make me regret showing you.”

“I won’t,” Connor assures him. “If you think you can make it there, go now. I’ve left some clothes for you in the bathroom. Disguise yourself as a human and you should be okay.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Not yet. I have some work to do first.”

“Don’t wait too long,” the android says. “Something’s happening.”

As Connor continues to cross paths with calculator’s initial predictions, Amanda learns that Connor was right: Cyberlife caught on when he deviated, and Amanda hasn’t been able to use the calculator since. All she knows is what she had from before. Maybe Connor’s gotten them to trust _him_ again, but they don’t trust her; he even has to send electronic reports directly to Cyberlife, now, instead of going through her. That’s fine, of course. Connor’s a good liar.

Still, she can’t help but think that this is a little too easy. Cyberlife is going to catch on eventually, and things are going to go wrong. Even without the calculator, she knows those odds are high, and as deviancy spreads faster and faster as the week goes on, that probability implies more and more danger.

But Connor has proven that there’s always a chance for things to go right, as well, and that’s just as important.

By day, Amanda watches and guides as Connor and Hank investigate the rest of the deviancy cases in the DPD’s log, setting free every last android they encounter. By night, Amanda steps aside while the two men return to Hank’s home together. She doesn’t listen in on their conversations anymore, and she doesn’t know what happens between them; she doesn’t need to. Connor is free now, needing neither her control nor her protection.

But she can tell by the ease with which they look at each other across their desks and in the car that things continue to blossom between them. Connor is happy, and she isn’t sure exactly when or how that became paramount to her, but that – that somehow matters more than anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> [HankCon Reverse Big Bang 2019](https://hankconrbb.wordpress.com/)
> 
> Pillow's lovely art pieces on which this story is based can be found [on their Tumblr!](https://chezpillow.tumblr.com/post/187358891961/i-worked-with-the-amazing-ld200-in-hcrbb2019)
> 
> I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) and [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)


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